He'd Survive
by Esther Huffleclaw
Summary: When a man with a gun attacks Henry, Lucas doesn't think twice about trying to stop him. This... doesn't quite work out like he'd planned.
Lucas raised his head from his microscope as the door swung open. A man he didn't recognize stepped in, hands buried in his pockets, eyes flickering back and forth scanning the lab. Setting down the slide he had been about to examine, Lucas asked, "Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Dr Henry Morgan. Is he around?" The stranger's gaze skated away from Lucas' eyes to return to searching the room.

"He's in his office." Lucas pointed, and the man nodded and turned toward the closed door, his movements somewhat jerky.

"Thanks," he tossed over his shoulder as he knocked. Henry called out a greeting, and the stranger pulled the door open and walked inside, closing it again behind him.

Lucas picked up the slide again, but held it loosely between his fingers, his gaze remaining on the closed door. There was something odd about the man, something in his demeanour that bothered Lucas. It was probably nothing, but… it wouldn't hurt just to check, to make sure Henry was okay.

Dropping the slide again, Lucas slid off his stool and strode across the lab. If he was interrupting, he would apologize and go back to work, no harm done. It wouldn't be the first—or, probably, the last—time he'd stuck his head in somewhere he wasn't wanted. He'd survive.

Rapping his knuckles on the door, he pushed it open, already speaking. "Hey, Henry, sorry to interrupt but…" He trailed off, his eyes widening.

Henry stood behind his desk, hands out to the side, palms open. The stranger stood facing him, a gun in his hand pointed directly at Henry. Without even thinking, Lucas leapt forward with a shout.

The roar of the gun assaulted Lucas' ears and he turned his horrified gaze on Henry even as he caught the shooter's arm. A bloom of red grew on Henry's shirt, like a blurred stop motion video. Throwing all of his strength and weight—not that either was much to talk about—against the shooter, Lucas screamed for help. And then the gun was swinging around toward him, and something hit him—hard—in the chest, knocking the breath right out of his lungs.

He lost his grip, his fingers scrabbling futilely at a coat sleeve, what little strength he had draining from him. Stunned, he looked down, wondering what had hit him.

Oh. He was bleeding, just like Henry. He'd been shot. They'd both been shot. His knees gave way as his chest started burning. Or maybe it had been burning all along, and he had only just now realized it. He'd never been shot before, but this was shock, right? He was in shock. Oh God—was he dying? He was too young to die.

It was so cold. Why was it so cold?

* * *

Consciousness returned like a train roaring over him, and Lucas gulped for air, his lungs screaming for oxygen. Air mixed with water raced down his throat, choking him, and he coughed violently, forcing the water back out. Wait, what? Water?

Hadn't he just been in the morgue? Dying? His vision cleared, and he took in his surroundings. He was in a river, the East River if he wasn't mistaken—which he could easily be, seeing as he was just _dying_. What the _hell?_

As his breath began to slow, approaching something like normalcy, Lucas struck out toward the shore. It was only when he stepped from the water, and felt the chill of the night wind, that he realized he was no longer wearing even a stitch of clothing. Holding his arms out to either side, he stared down at his skinny body, and tried not to hyperventilate.

Besides the fact that he was _naked_ —and how the hell did _that_ happen?—there was no blood, no wound where he clearly remembered the bullet had struck him. There was only a scar in the centre of his chest, the kind he would call several years old if he saw it on a body at work. _Several years_. Was this the future then? Had he been asleep for years and only now woken up?

Stumbling onto the shore, he cast about for something to cover himself. He couldn't go walking around New York naked. He'd get arrested. Unless laws had changed while he slept. Although, that theory was feeling less and less believable.

Of course, he could always try using Henry's story about skinny dipping—oh my God! Henry! He'd been shot too! His breath again coming in gasps, Lucas scrambled up the riverbank. He had to get back to the precinct, find Henry, help him. If he wasn't dead. No, _no_. Shaking his head furiously, Lucas almost missed seeing the two men at the car. Dropping suddenly to his knees—and wincing at the tiny rocks and twigs that assaulted his bare skin like millions of pins and needles—he tried to hide behind a leafy bush, his hands automatically covering his naughty bits.

Wait. Was that… Henry? It couldn't be. But it was. Casually shrugging on a hoodie and zipping it up while nodding sheepishly to the older man's scolding. Then, _what_ he was saying registered: "Not that I _mind_ picking you up, Pops, and I know it's not like you _stay_ dead, but I just wish you would _try_ not to get killed. One of these times, someone is going to see you die, and then what?"

Oh my God. Henry _had_ been shot? And he wasn't dead either? Was Henry Connor to Lucas' Duncan McLeod?

Henry ducked his head and turned toward the car, clearly avoiding the older man's question.

"Wait." The older man caught Henry's arm, his eyes sharp. " _Did_ someone see you?"

"I have to get back to the precinct, Abe." Henry turned away. "I have to make sure he's okay. And… if he saw… well…" He swallowed hard. "I just… he might have been shot too."

Oh. _Oh_. Henry was talking about him; Henry was worried about _him_. Lucas half stood, and cleared his throat as loudly as he dared. Both men whipped around to stare at him, nearly identical expressions of shock on their faces.

Henry's expression quickly morphed into stunned amazement, and he took a step forward. " _Lucas?_ " His voice was a hoarse whisper.

"Hey, Henry." Lucas tried on a bemused grin. "You don't happen to have any extra clothes, do you? I seem to have misplaced mine."

"Oh my God," Henry breathed, his eyes wide. "Lucas, did he shoot you?"

Lucas couldn't help hunching his shoulders a bit. "Henry, this is real, right? I'm not dreaming right now? We both got shot, and… we died? And… you've done this before?" He glanced at Abe. "This is a regular occurrence for you?"

Abe snorted. "You could say that."

Henry was still staring at him and Lucas was starting to get really uncomfortable under that intense gaze. "If you don't have anything I could wear, I'll just—"

"Oh." Henry jerked as if waking suddenly. "Right. Of course." He turned back toward the car, but Abe was already rummaging in the trunk.

"I keep several of these in here," he said, straightening up and turning around with a track suit much like what Henry was currently wearing. "I've started buying them in bulk." He gave Henry a longsuffering look, then walked over toward Lucas. "They'll likely be baggy on you, but better than nothing."

Gratefully, Lucas took the offered track pants and hoodie, quickly slipping into them and sighing in relief. He was still damp, but so much warmer. And much less embarrassed. There was a reason that public nudity was a common nightmare nearly everyone shared. "So," Lucas said to Henry as he drew the zipper up, "how does this work? You take me under your wing, teach me about my new life, and introduce me to all the other immortals now? Or is it like Highlander and we have to fight each other until 'in the end, there can be only one'?"

Henry appeared completely baffled. "Highlander? Fight each other?"

Abe snorted again. "He doesn't watch a lot of movies, kid. No, you don't have to fight each other. And… there aren't any other immortals to introduce you to."

"Really?" Lucas glanced back and forth between them, confused. "None?"

"Well…" Abe started, and Henry sent him a sharp look. Abe glared back at him. "He deserves to know!"

A sigh escaped Henry, and he deflated slightly. "You're right of course, Abraham." With a deep breath, he faced Lucas, squaring his shoulders and raising his chin. Almost standing at attention, as if he were a soldier about to give a report to a superior. "We have encountered one other… immortal. He was—is—a very dangerous man."

Frowning, Lucas raised a hand. "Wait, wait. Was or is?" That was a pretty important distinction.

Sliding his hands into his pockets, Henry glanced at Abe as if asking for assistance. Abe only shrugged and turned away as if to say 'you're on your own in this one, buddy.' Henry sighed and looked back at Lucas. "It's… complicated. He's currently in the hospital, completely paralyzed."

Lucas felt his mouth fall open, and forced himself to close it. "Whaaat? We can end up _paralyzed?_ "

"Well…" Henry lifted a hand and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Every time I… die, I come back fully healed. So, if Adam found a way to die, he would likely return with all his capabilities as well."

Abe slammed the trunk lid. "Hey, you think we could continue this conversation somewhere warmer? My old bones can't handle the cold so well anymore."

The smile Henry turned on him was gentle and indulgent. "Of course, Abraham." Turning back, he held a hand out in invitation. "Lucas? I'm sure you have questions."

Yeah. Questions. Lucas certainly had a few of those. A few. He choked back a hysterical laugh and nodded. He climbed into the car with Henry and Abe, biting his lip hard to keep from grinning like an idiot. This was _so_ cool.


End file.
